Fear Itself
by The Urban Spaceman
Summary: In the weeks leading up to the Normandy's journey through the Omega-4 relay to face the Collectors, Garrus is forced to confront his worst fears. Can he overcome them, or will his nightmares jeopardise the entire mission?
1. Second Chance

_Author's Note: This story is my entry for Lady Krios' October Contest over at Aria's Afterlife. Go check the place out if you haven't already. This story has four chapters in total, and will be updated daily until it's complete. It will not be replacing the bi-weekly updates of my other stories; service as normal for my regular readers. Hope you enjoy...  
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Fear Itself

_1. Second Chance_

A beam of harsh white light shines into my left eye, and I fight the instinct to turn my head. I can feel my pupils contract to protect my vision; a reflex I cannot stop even though I know the light can't harm me. The soft floral scent of Dr. Chakwas' perfume tickles my nose, and I hold my breath, trying not to sneeze. The Doc's face is mere inches from mine, and I doubt she'd appreciate being sneezed on by a turian.

"Well?" I ask, making sure none of my impatience is conveyed in my voice. Dr. Chakwas does not take kindly to impatient patients. Heh, impatient patients. I'll have to try and work that into a joke.

"As far as I can tell, you're a perfectly healthy individual," she replies. She switches off the medical flashlight, and I give her my blankest stare. She quickly amends her statement. "Other than the fact that you recently tried to take down a gunship with your face. But I'm confident the scarring will fade, with time."

"There has to be something else," I say. I feel my mandibles flare in frustration, but I can't help it. It's been over a month since I '_tried to take down a gunship with my face_,' and though the wounds still hurt a bit, they're not my main problem.

"It would help if you told me what I'm supposed to be looking for. If you told me what symptoms you're suffering, Garrus—"

I shake my head as she speaks. I don't want to talk about this. Not with her, not with Shepard, not with anyone. It's stupid. Embarrassing. I feel like a child just for being here. But I can't tell her what's wrong. Shepard needs me to be strong, now more than ever. I'm the only one she has left. The only one on this Cerberus-built ship that she trusts.

Well, apart from Joker and Chakwas. But they don't count.

"There must be some sort of erroneous neural activity. Some damage to my brain or something."

Chakwas has the patience of a saint, or so I've heard Shepard say. The Doc takes out her medical scanner and runs it over my head once more. Third time she's done that today. I know she's not just humouring me; she takes her time over the scan, scrutinises the results, and finally switches off her omni-tool.

"I'm sorry, Garrus," she sighs. "But without more to go on…"

She trails off, leaving an opening I'm meant to fill. But I don't fill it. I push myself off the edge of the sterile bed.

"You won't tell Shepard about this, will you?" I ask.

Chakwas' eyes meet mine. "It is my duty to report all medical conditions to the Captain of the ship, at least when there's a chance it may affect your duties. But for now, I can find no additional medical condition. So until I know more… no. I won't mention this to Shepard."

"That goes for you too, AI," I growl to the holo-terminal where EDI is watching with what I suppose is synthetic interest.

"I am not programmed to relay medical reports," the AI purrs to me. I don't like 'her' tone. I think she's mocking me. Joker says she mocks him all the time.

"Good." I nod to Chakwas. "Thanks, Doc."

She mutters something about 'damn stubborn turians' that I'm not supposed to hear, but the door closes behind me before I can respond. Out in the mess, I glance around, checking who's off-duty. Three of the Cerberus crewmembers are sitting at one table, their food trays full of what I can only describe as 'gloop.' Honestly, if Shepard doesn't find a better supplier soon, the humans are going to be thinner than _me._

The only other person in the mess is Thane. He's sitting alone at a table, half-empty tray of gloop in front of him. I decide to avoid him for the moment. Not that I don't like the guy, but what do you say to someone who's dying? Someone who's dying, and not even pissed about it. He's just so… calm. Serene. It's a bit creepy. I don't think I could ever be like Thane. I don't think I could ever stop fighting.

I return to the main battery. It's late, but I need to be there. I'm doing a complete retrofit of the Normandy's main weapon. It gives me something to do. Keeps me busy. Helps stop my mind from dwelling on my… issues. Besides, in the battery, I'm useful. I'm contributing. Proving my worth to the Cerberus crew. To the Illusive Man. I'm doing my bit for humanity. For the galaxy. For Shepard.

* * *

_My breath sounds loud and pained inside the confines of my helmet. My visor fogs briefly with each heavy exhale, but the anti-fog coating kicks in and removes it, leaving me with clear vision. I wish it didn't do that. I wish I could see through a grey mist. I wish I didn't have to look at the expression of open-mouthed horror frozen on Pressly's face. His eyes have rolled back into his head and there's a gash down one cheek, but that's not what killed him. Almost a dozen human bodies are floating around the CIC. A large hole has been torn in the hull, the breach sucking all the air from the room, exposing the men and women who'd been caught unaware to the vacuum of space._

_Pressly's lucky, in a way. It looks like he died from exposure to vacuum. If it happens to humans like it does to turians, he would have quickly passed out as his heart rate plummeted. It would have been mostly painless. Some of the others in the CIC are… messier. Explosive decompression is what happens when a person exposed to a vacuum tries to hold their breath. The lungs rupture and blood vessels tear. I can tell by the amount of blood floating in the CIC that most of the crew died this way._

_The ship shakes again, twisted metal structures screaming in agony as the force of some weapons blow I cannot see tries to tear it apart. It's a sickening sound, the death throes of an injured vessel lost before its time, but it tears my attention away from the blood and the bodies, and reminds me of what I'm doing here._

_Looking ahead, I see Shepard in the cockpit. I can't hear her words but I can tell she's arguing with Joker. A thought crosses my mind. __**I'm not too late! I can still save her!**_

_Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention. Through the gaping hole in the hull, I see a behemoth of a ship turning, a bright light forming as its main gun prepares to open fire on us again. My eyes return to the cockpit; Shepard pushes Joker into an escape pod. The enemy ship opens fire. I launch myself forward, floating through the zero-g of the CIC. Blood suspended within the vacuum splatters against my armour, but I ignore it. I scream inside my head, willing myself to float faster, to reach the shielded cockpit before the gunfire can destroy it._

_I land as Shepard ejects the pod, and roll inelegantly across the floor before hitting the pilot's chair and coming to a stop._

"_Garrus!" Shepard gasps, and that's all I need to hear. That one word from her lips makes it all worth it._

_At that moment, a beam of light tears through what's left of the Normandy's carcass. The ship gives one final agonised scream, and then tears itself in two. I make a grab for Shepard as the force of the blow sends us spilling out into space. I catch her hand and pull myself towards her. She's not going to die. Not this time. I'm going to save her._

"_Garrus…" she gasps._

_I cut her off. "It's okay, Shepard," I say, wishing we weren't separated by these bulky suits, wishing I could hold her in my arms, feel the warmth of her body against mine, feel her breath against my skin and her arms around my neck. I should have told her how I felt weeks ago, but I was a coward. "I'm here, Shepard," I say. "We're going to be fine. We just need to keep still. That ship will think we're just two more bodies floating in space."_

"_Garrus… I can't breath," she manages to say._

_Terror thrusts its fingers into my heart and tries to pluck it from my chest. I look around to Shepard's air tank and see a piece of shrapnel lodged there. No! It isn't supposed to end like this! I already lost her once. I left the ship thinking that the woman I loved was right behind me. I left her to die. I couldn't watch her die again. Not after coming so close to saving her._

"_Shepard, take very slow, deep breaths," I tell her, even though I know it's futile. I can feel tears stinging my eyes. They roll down my cheeks as I watch Shepard slowly slip away. Her eyes close, and inside my suit I rage against the unfairness of it all. "Shepard?" The fingers of terror in my heart start to twist. I put my hands on her shoulders, shaking her desperately. "Shepard! Shepard! Talk to me! Shepard! Please don't leave me!"_

o-o-o-o-o

I sit up gasping for air, as if I'm the one who ran out of oxygen in the cold depths of space.

"Lights," I croak, as I wipe the tears from the hardened skin of my cheeks. The computer complies, providing subtle illumination, and I realise I'm in one of the Normandy's bunk rooms. I hear snoring from the bunk below me, and briefly lean down over the side of the bed. Jacob doesn't seem to have been disturbed by my fitful sleep, or by my call for the lights. I leave him to his rest.

It's like this every time I sleep, which is why I try not to sleep anymore. I don't even remember coming to the bunk room. When I was six years old, I used to have bad dreams, nightmares of the krogans rebelling once more, taking Palaven as their own, killing my parents, forcing me and my sister, Solana, to work as their slaves. I blame too many war vids and an overly graphic history teacher for that one, but something my father told me back then has stuck with me.

"_A real man confronts his fears and overcomes them. He doesn't hide from them. He doesn't let them control him."_

I'm still a coward. I've been on this ship for over a month, and I still haven't had the guts to tell Shepard how I feel about her. I'm terrified that I'll lose her again. So afraid that my affections will only push her away. The nightmares started only a few days after I came aboard the Normandy. In the first one, I had to watch Shepard impaled on one of those damned dragons-teeth, turned into a lifeless husk. That had been hard. Then, the second one was just after Horizon. I watched Shepard welcome Kaidan back to the Normandy. Saw them kissing in the mess when they thought no-one else was around. That had been harder. After that, the nightmares started to blur into one another.

I know what needs to be done. I need to come clean to Shepard. Even if she rejects me, at least it'll get the 'what-if' varren off my back. And I have to do it now, whilst I have the memory of her death to spur me on. Because if I leave it another day, I know that I'll lose my impetus, that my courage will fail me, and I'll go back to watching her from a distance, like some half-crazed stalker.

As quietly as possibly I slip down from the bed and leave the room, turning off the lights again as I go. It must be late, because the ship's running in low-power mode, the lights dimmed, and the offices and medbay dark. I encounter no-one as I make my way towards the elevator, and not even EDI questions my movements as I hit the button for the top deck. As the elevator slowly ascends, I tap one of my claws against the wall, focusing on the noise. I don't think about what I'm going to say. I suck at speeches. I'll only sabotage my own words by thinking about them.

The lift stops. I step out. The door to Shepard's quarters looms. I press the call button. I wait.

When the door eventually slides open, it's a very groggy-looking Shepard who greets me. She's dressed in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt; human bed-wear, I assume, since I've never seen her wearing it around the ship. Her flame-red shoulder length hair is messy and tangled, and she looks blearily out at me as I stand in her doorway.

"Garrus," she said. "Is something wrong?" She immediately becomes more alert, her posture stiffening, eyes becoming clearer. I can't blame her; I've never shown up here unannounced before. It's only natural she jump to the worst conclusion, that some tragedy has befallen the ship.

"No. I just wanted to talk," I say.

She steps aside, inviting me in, and I feel my pulse begin to race.

"Sure. I always have time for you," she replies. "But if you don't mind me asking, where are your clothes?"

I stop and look down. I've been so distracted by my nightmare that I failed to notice I'm wearing nothing but my flesh-tight underpants. I shake my head. _What. An. Idiot._ But in for a penny, in for a pound, right? At least, I _think_ that's the saying I'd heard Captain Anderson use once.

"Long story," I tell her, as the door to her quarters slides shut. She gestures to the sofa, but I decline, preferring to stand and pace as I talk.

"What's on your mind?"

"Funny you should ask," I say, as she takes a seat in one of the armchairs. She tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, and I try _not_ to think about running my hands through that river of dark red softness. Spirits, I've wanted to touch her hair ever since I first saw her! "There's actually something I wanted to get off my mind. Or off my chest. Whatever the stupid human phrase is."

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She knows how hard I try to fit in with the humans on the ship by using their silly expressions. But she's never made me feel pressured into doing it around her. I think she likes it when I don't try so hard to be like one of them; something that works in my favour… I hope.

"It's about you," I say. "And me."

"Ahh. The galaxy's finest crime-fighting duo," she quips. Her joke helps, makes me feel a little more at ease. Doesn't stop my pulse from racing, but that's just the effect she has on me. "What about us?"

"Well…" I'm lost, but determined to proceed despite the fact that I don't have a map. I don't think a map _exists_ for this sort of situation. "I just wanted to tell you how much I respect and admire you. You're pretty much the only friend I have left, and you're very important to me."

She smiles. "You're important to me too, Garrus. I'm so glad I found you again."

I feel my heart start to fall inside my chest. I don't think she understands what I'm trying to say. I wish I'd paid more attentions to those vids I watched with Joker last week. I feel like I'm missing important information regarding human customs. I realise I'm going to have to be blunt. Krogan-blunt. And you don't get much blunter than a krogan.

"The thing is," I elaborate, trying not to let my mandibles flare in discomfort as I continue to make a fool of myself, "when you were… gone… I started to realise just _how_ much you mean to me. And when I saw you standing on Omega, it was the happiest moment of my life. Happier than being put forward as a SPECTRE candidate. Happier than getting into C-Sec. Happier than kicking Saren's ass. I don't know exactly when it happened—" That's a lie. I can remember the very _moment_ it happened. Saleon's ship. I'd been about to empty a round of bullets into the salarian's head, when she'd stepped in front of my gun, anger flashing in those beautiful green eyes, and told me if I didn't stand down she'd kick my ass all the way back to the Citadel and leave me in a C-Sec cell. But that's not important right now. "—but recently I've started to think of you as more than a friend. More than a commanding officer. I can understand if my feelings are entirely unrequited. After all, you're a human, I'm a turian. Our species hardly have the best of relationships. We can't even eat the same food. Plus, you know, I don't have the right number of fingers. But I wanted to tell you about this… about my feelings for you… because keeping it to myself is driving me nuts. And I think you deserve to know the truth. And, maybe, one day, you might—"

She leaves the chair and glides towards me, silencing me by placing a finger across my lips.

"I've known how you feel about me since I saw you on Omega," she tells me.

I frown. "How?"

"The look in your eyes when they met mine. The relief on your face. The tenderness in your voice. Plus… you know… I'm a SPECTRE. We tend to be good at noticing things."

"Then why didn't you say something?" I ask, feeling like the galaxy's biggest idiot. And coming from a guy making a fool of himself via krogan-bluntness in front of the woman he loves, whilst dressed only in his underpants, that's saying a lot.

She shrugs. "I was afraid of losing your friendship. Of pushing matters before you were ready to address them yourself."

"Huh." Guess humans and turians aren't all that different after all. I look down at her, trying to keep the hope from my eyes and my voice. "So… how do you feel about what I told you?" My heart hammers in my chest. I've dreamt of this moment—minus the underpants and the idiocy—for almost three years.

"You mean, how do I feel about you?" she asks. I nod. "Well, I already told Joker he can be my BFF. He felt so guilty about my death. Blamed himself for it, y'know?" I nod again. I don't know what a BFF is, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve intimacy. Otherwise I might have to flush our pilot out an airlock. Shepard sighs, looking up at me through her long dark lashes. Maybe I should tell her how beautiful her eyes are. Damn, I probably should have done that earlier. Stupid brain.

"I meant what I said, Garrus," she continues. "I don't want to lose your friendship. And the differences between us… not just culturally, but physically… are pretty huge."

I nod and feel my heart descend once more, but before I can launch into the 'let's just be friends' speech, she reaches up and runs the back of her fingers across my cheek, the one not scarred by my brush with a Blue Suns gunship. I close my eyes, relishing the feeling of her warm hand, the slightly perfumed soapy scent of her skin. Her touch is gentle, almost ticklish, like a butterfly landing on my skin.

"So maybe we should just take things slow," she says. "One step at a time."

I open my eyes, see a hopeful smile on her face, and I feel both elated and relaxed at the same time.

"One step at a time," I agree.

She stands on her tiptoes, resting her forehead against mine. Clearly she's done her homework; not many non-turians know this is our equivalent of a kiss. I take a deep breath, inhaling her scent, and sigh contentedly. I don't mind taking things slow. Now that she knows, we have all the time in the world.


	2. Family

Fear Itself

_2. Family_

_I step into the house which is both alien and familiar to me. It's been nearly nine years since I was last here, and there have been changes. Rooms redecorated, furniture moved around, a new holovid screen installed in the corner. But at its heart, it's still the same house. The place I grew up in. My childhood home._

_My arrival has not gone unnoticed. As I dump my bag beside the front door, Solana appears from upstairs. Her face is tear-stained, her fringe undecorated, her clothes creased, as if she's slept in them more than once. When she sees me, her eyes widen ever so slightly._

"_Hello, Sol," I say, because I suck at uncomfortable reunions._

"_Oh, Garrus, you came!" She all but jumps down the stairs and into my arms, pulling me into a tight embrace which I return. Spirits, I'd missed her! She is the only thing that I've missed about this place. But even my beloved sister hasn't been enough to bring me back here before now._

"_I'm sorry, Sol. I wish I could have come sooner. But I was on a mission in deep space, with no way of getting back."_

"_So," came the boom of another voice. Solana tore herself from my arms, stepping aside to reveal my father. He descends the stairs slowly, as if wanting to delay this moment longer. "The prodigal son returns, eh? What's so important that it's kept you from this?"_

_I glance down at the floor. Even if I tell him about my new mission—helping Shepard, stopping the Collectors, delaying the return of the Reapers—he won't understand. To him, I'll always be his greatest failure. The son who could have followed in his father's footsteps. The boy who might one day have risen to the rank of C-Sec Executor… but instead wasted his life by teaming up with a SPECTRE. A __**human**__ SPECTRE._

"_I can't say," I reply._

"_Oh. Top secret then, eh?" father says scornfully. "Well, I'm sure whatever it is, must be important, to keep you from seeing your dying mother."_

_Solana lets out an angry hiss. "For spirits' sake, keep your voices down, both of you! Mother doesn't need to hear your petty bickering. Not now."_

"_I want to see her," I say, turning my gaze to Sol. Her yellow eyes are full of pain, and I can tell how tired she is by the way she snapped. Sol never gets angry._

_My sister nods. "She's upstairs, in her bed."_

"_Why isn't she in a hospital?"_

"_Not that you'd know, because you haven't been here," father snipes, "but there's nothing more the doctors can do for her. They thought she might be happier dying at home, so they sent her back here."_

"_Go on, Garrus," Sol says, laying a hand on my arm. "But don't tire her out."_

_I nod, and take my leave, ascending the stairs, each step filling me with dread. What can I possibly say to my mother? There is no excuse I can offer for my absence. 'Saving the galaxy' doesn't cut it, not when one person's entire existence has been reduced to a single room. A single deathbed._

_I notice the smell even before I reach the bedroom door. It's the putrid stench of death and decay, of sickness and rotting flesh. I've smelled this scent before—the victims of Dr. Saleon had been the same, their operation sites infected after the butcher tore out their organs with no thought for after-care. I feel the bile rise in my throat as the rancid smell brings back unpleasant memories._

_My feet take me on autopilot to the door, and I stop before it, taking several deep breaths—through my mouth, not my nose—as I rally myself for this next part. The coward in me really wishes that Shepard were here, to hold my hand and help me get through this. But I know, deep down, that I have to do this alone._

_I push the door open, and another wave of rotting smell assaults me, making me feel nauseous. The window's open, but the fresh air seems to become tainted by death as soon as it enters the room. In the distance, I can hear Palaven blue-jays singing songs to each other. Such a beautiful chorus does not belong in this room._

_I turn towards the bed and reluctantly raise my eyes from floor-level. The bed is smaller than I remember it, and the woman lying upon it is smaller still. For a moment I stare, and wonder if I've made a mistake. Whoever this is, it's not my mother. No, my mother is an active and vibrant person, always so full of energy, the life of any party. My mother is a tall, strong woman, capable of carrying two wriggling children in her arms without ever tiring. My mother's face is beautiful, a mischievous spark of life in eyes which are a shade or two darker than mine._

_This… this __**thing**__ lying on the bed is not my mother. It is a weak and frail shell, all the muscle wasted away, paper-thin skin hanging off an emaciated skeleton. Both of the mandibles are missing from the face of this sickly caricature, the eye-sockets are dark and sunken, and the carapace of her face a mess of rotting flesh and angry boils. The flesh around her lips is completely gone, and when she opens her mouth I can see the exposed bones of her jaws; most of her needle-sharp teeth have dropped out._

"_Garrus," she whispers. The thing that looks like my mother raises her arm, holding out her hand to me. I stare at it in shock. The hands which once carried a child nestled against each shoulder are now skeletal-thin, the ends of her talons rotting away. _

_I can't help the revulsion that passes through me, and I know there's a look of disgust on my face. This isn't my mother. My mother is already dead. What is left behind is a husk, no different to the Reaper-husks I've fought a dozen times or more. No… this isn't like the Reaper-husks. Those things are unnatural, but they're not sick. They don't feel pain. Their flesh does not rot. They don't exist in a self-contained bubble of misery._

"_Garrus," she says again, her eyes pleading with me to come closer. "Please." Her voice is hoarse, vocal chords ravaged by the disease. I can only imagine how much pain she's in. How much humiliation she feels, at being left to linger in this state. My father is cruel to leave her like this; why does he hate her so much?_

_Suddenly, it all becomes too much. I can't stand the stench anymore. I can't bear to see the flesh literally hanging from my mother's corpse. It's not just bile I feel rising now. I turn and dash from the room, craving fresh air and solitude. I take the the stairs three at a time, charging past my sister, past my father, and out the front door. I barely have time to make it to the tree at the bottom of the garden before I'm forced to drop to my knees and vomit, throwing up the entire contents of my stomach._

_My whole body feels weak, and I'm certain my legs can't support me, so I stay there on my knees whilst I gather my strength. Only when I hear footsteps on the path behind me do I push myself to my feet, feeling wobbly as a toddler standing for the first time._

"_You've upset your mother," father accuses._

_I turn to face him, to throw back some accusation of cruelty, but the look in his eyes stops me. I've seen that look before, in the eyes of colonists I've rescued from the Collectors, in the eyes of the survivors of Saren's attack on the Citadel. Never before have I seen my father looking so… helpless. And not just helpless, but small. Like the bed in his room, he's grown smaller as I've grown older. Or perhaps I'm simply seeing things from a different perspective. I hadn't realised it before, but I'm taller than my father, now._

"_I'm sorry," I say, because apologies are easier to come by these days._

"_Solana's readying your room for the night," he offers._

_I shake my head. "I can't stay. I have to get back to my mission."_

"_So that's it? You spend all of five minutes with the woman who brought you into this world, as she lies on her deathbed, and you think your duty is done?"_

"_No. My duty is out there, waiting for me," I respond, mandibles flaring angrily._

"_She needs her family by her side," he counters. "If you leave now, then you won't be welcome in this home again."_

"_If I don't leave now, there might not be a home here for much longer."_

_I walk back to the house and pick up my bag as my father continues to berate me. Once, I would have let his words hurt me, but I ignore them now. I've done what I came here to do. I've seen my mother. As far as I'm concerned, she's already dead. I'll mourn her in my own time, in my own way. My father might hate me for it, and Sol might not understand, but I can't stay._

"_You belong here, Garrus!" my father yells after me, as I set off down the path. "Your place is here, with your family! Get back here, you ungrateful brat! Fine, go on then. Get out of here. You're not worthy of being a member of this family! You're not my son! I have no son!"_

o-o-o-o-o

I wake to the sound of blood pounding through my ears, and for a moment I panic. I feel restricted, as if I've been bound tightly and can't move.

"Lights."

When I hear Shepard's voice, I relax. The lights come on, and I realise why I feel like I'm bound; I've been thrashing in my sleep, it seems, and I'm all caught up in Shepard's blankets. She looks at me, clearly suppressing a grin, and begins to unravel the sheets from my limbs.

"That must have been some nightmare," she says, as she pulls one of the blankets away from my claws. I notice the blanket's been ripped, but it'll probably mend.

"You could say that," I reply.

"Wanna talk about it?"

I shake my head. Shepard tosses the blankets onto the floor and curls up beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. I manage to get my arm free and lift my hand to pick up and play with a lock of her long red hair. Human hair, I've discovered, is wonderfully soft. Lying beside Shepard and stroking her hair is one of my favourite things to do. It's so comforting. Cathartic. Shepard jokes that she's not my damn cat. I don't know what a damn cat is, but I surmise it's something soft and potentially therapeutic.

"Who's Solana?" Shepard asks, and I freeze in mid-stroke. She glances up at me, her green eyes full of sympathy. "You spoke the name in your sleep."

"Solana's my sister," I explain, only because I don't want Shepard thinking I'm dreaming about other women.

"Ah. Does this have anything to do with the news you received about your mother?"

I nodded. I'd got Sol's message over the extranet two days ago. My mother had Corpalis Syndrome. A disfiguring, degenerative wasting disease.

"Maybe you should go and see her," Shepard suggested gently. "You should be with your family at a time like this."

"I can't," I said. "I have important work to do here with you. I'm only half-way through the retrofit of the Normandy's gun. And you need me to watch your back. You know you can't trust these Cerberus types."

"As much as I need you, I think your family might need you more."

"I'll visit them after we've stopped the Collectors," I assured her. I didn't give her my other excuses. That if I went home, my father would shame me into staying until my mother passed away, and that could take months. Months of sitting around, being useless, watching the woman who'd raised me waste away.

My other excuse was even more selfish. I'd already lost Shepard once, and I didn't want to lose her again. The last time the Normandy had gone up against the Collectors, it had been ripped to shreds in a scant three shots. Granted, this was a different Normandy, a better one, but I was determined to stay by Shepard's side and see this through to the end.

"I want to help," she said, propping herself up to look straight at my face.

"Sorry Shepard, but by the time you've gone to med school and studied about turian biology, and then spent years researching a cure, it will be too late," I joked. But Shepard took me seriously.

"I know. But that's not how I want to help. Didn't you mention something about a group of salarians who might be able to work on a cure, if they have enough funding?"

"Yes. The operative word being 'if.' But the amount they need to fund their research is… well, it's more than I can afford. It's not like I had a regular wage, working as a tactical genius on Omega, and my savings and severance package from C-Sec ran out over a year ago."

"But Cerberus have plenty of money," she pointed out. "I think their modus operandi is pretty much 'you can fix _anything_ if you throw enough money at it.' I mean, just look at me. I was _dead_. They threw money and Frankenscience at me, now here I am."

"I'd rather not get indebted to Cerberus. I don't want my family dragged into their crap."

"It's in the Illusive Man's best interests to keep you sweet. You're helping protect humanity. Furthermore, keeping _you_ sweet keeps _me_ sweet, and ensures my continued co-operation with Cerberus' goals. If you're worried about where the finances come from, I can run it all through Barla Von. He still owes me a couple of favours. Nobody will ever be able to trace where it's come from. Please, Garrus, let me do this much for you, at least."

There was such hope etched on her face that I couldn't bear to let her down. I nod.

"Okay. And thank you, Shepard. I really appreciate your help." Maybe with some Cerberus funding, the salarians would find a cure in time. I could only hope.

She smiles, and reaches out to walk her fingers up my bare arm, tickling my skin with every tiny finger-step.

"I've been thinking. It's been great, sharing a bed with you. Having you to cuddle up to at nights. Being able to wake up to you in the mornings."

"Yeah," I agreed. Sometimes, when Shepard fell asleep, I liked to lie awake and watch her. She didn't know I did it, of course. I wasn't sure if she'd think it was creepy. But she looked so serene when she slept that I couldn't help myself. "I'm hardly the cuddliest of people, though." I held up my clawed hands as evidence. "I'm not as squishy as you humans. Even Grunt agrees on that."

She grins. "Well, Grunt's not the one who has to cuddle you, and I like you as you are. Anyway, like I said, I've been thinking. Maybe tonight we should take another of those steps."

I felt my cheeks flare in surprise. Shepard and I had been sharing a bed—her bed—for over three weeks now, taking things slowly, getting used to what it felt like to sleep next to someone from a different species, just getting to know each other in a less public setting than the officer's mess. I thought we'd have another week or two at the least before taking things to the next level.

"What's prompted this?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"Mordin put together a 'care package' for me yesterday."

"Care package? Dare I ask what's in it?" Knowing Mordin, it could be anything. Very possibly it involved a lethal mech.

"An information disc about turian and human physiology, a couple of emergency epinephrine shots, some soothing ointment and…" she gives a small cough, "illustrationsofpositionscomfortableforbothspecies ."

I let out a throaty chuckle. Shepard is the most decorated SPECTRE in the galaxy, the most famous human being in the Alliance, an accomplished orator, and she swears like a soldier whilst in combat, yet the thought of some raunchy images is enough to bring a blush to her cheeks. It is one of the things I love about her.

I pull her into my arms, all the better to play with her hair, and she doesn't object.

"That sounds good," I tell her. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"We don't bother with those images. I'd like us to find our own positions. It'll be more fun to experiment."

She grins again, and rests her head against my neck. "It's a deal."

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks, anonymous guest reviewers, for your feedback. As to why I capitalise 'SPECTRE' I just like the way it looks written like that._


	3. Grasping at Straws

Fear Itself

_3. Grasping at Straws_

The warmth of the port observation lounge welcomes me as I enter the room. Kelly Chambers is waiting patiently on the sofa. There is no sign of Kasumi; spirits know where she's gone whilst Kelly requested the use of this room.

"Come in, Garrus," she says, patting the couch.

"Alright. But I want you to know that I'm here against my will," I tell her. Indeed, after two weeks of continued nightmares, of tossing and turning in bed at nights, Shepard had finally had enough, and ordered me to come for counselling or 'stay the hell out of her bed.' Frankly, staying out of her bed is completely out of the question. She's the only thing keeping me sane through all these nightmares.

"I'm sorry to hear that. We'd probably make more progress if you genuinely wanted to discuss your issues."

"Yeah, well, we can't all have our own way all the time."

"Have a seat," she instructs, and I take the one opposite her. "So. What would you like to talk about?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm supposed to talk about my nightmares."

"Nightmares?" she prompts.

"Yes, they're bad dreams." She merely looks at me, waiting for me to elaborate. I sigh. She isn't going to make this easy on me. "I have bad dreams. They make me restless at nights. Shepard's getting fed up of me ruining her blankets with my thrashing."

"Can you tell me about your nightmares?"

"They differ every time," I admit. "Sometimes I see people dying. Normandy destroyed. Folks being tortured. Turned into husks. Reapers wiping out worlds. Variations on a theme. Oh, and this one time, I had a dream that I was climbing a really tall tree. What do you think that one means?"

"I see your sense of humour is intact, but it's not nice to mock your counsellor. Dreams can convey important messages to us. It sounds like your dreams centre around death, pain and destruction."

"Yep. So, am I cured?"

"Garrus," she sighs, "I know this is difficult for you, that you don't like talking to me about such personal things. But believe me, you're not alone. Everybody on this ship is under a great deal of stress. The sorts of dreams you've described are very common amongst members of the crew. In a way, you're under more pressure than anyone. Shepard relies on you so much, and you don't want to let her down."

"It's not just the nature of my dreams that's giving me trouble," I tell her. "It's the intensity of them. When they're happening, they're so real. The sights, sounds, smells… it's like I'm really there, living it all. When I wake up, it takes me a while to fully come around. And sometimes, when I'm working in the battery, or sitting in the mess, or watching Shepard sleep, I feel like _this_ is the dream. Like I don't know whether I'm really awake or not."

"You feel confused," she says.

"Yes. Sometimes I try pinching myself, to see if I'm really awake."

"Does that work?"

"Not so far." Suddenly, a thought occurs to me. "Hey, maybe a Reaper's trying to indoctrinate me," I suggest. It makes more sense than me being nuts, and I'm proud I've figured this out myself. "They could be sending me bad dreams to ruin my effectiveness on the team."

"Do you think that's a plausible explanation?"

"Sure." I nod, and stand up. "Well, thanks for the talk. I'll go see Mordin, see if he's got anything that can block Reaper indoctrination brain-waves."

"Garrus, I don't think it's going to be as simple as that," Kelly objects. "I really do think you need to talk about what's on your mind. I believe that as you work through your concerns, the dreams will stop, in time."

"Yeah, sure, thanks, I'll be sure to give the talking thing a try if Mordin can't stop the indoctrination process."

I slip out of the room before Kelly can offer any more arguments. Pft, talking. As if that ever helped anyone. No, there is no point in talking. I need to _do_ something. I need to take action. And Mordin, scientist salarian, is just the man to help me.

* * *

"Physical impossibility," Mordin chirps at me, barely even glancing up from the microscope slide he's examining.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

He blinks at me, clearly not approving of my demanding tone, but answers nonetheless.

"Reaper indoctrination reliant on close proximity to Reapers. Limited range, several thousand kilometres at best. Following defeat of Sovereign, all Reapers now in dark space. Impossible for them to indoctrinate you."

"Well, maybe another of them stayed behind," I suggest, grasping wildly at straws. At least, I think that's how the saying goes.

"If another Reaper remained, why work through Collectors?" he counters. "Why not just indoctrinate another Saren?"

"Maybe I _am_ Saren!"

Mordin shakes his head. Somehow, he manages to look both amused and concerned.

"No, no. Your nightmares started after gunship incident, yes?" I nod. "If Reapers want to indoctrinate you, would have tried it long before then. Besides, better to indoctrinate someone in authority." He taps his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Turian councillor, perhaps. Have noticed he is quick to deny existence of Reapers. Will investigate potential indoctrination links after current mission objective complete."

"But what about me?"

He looks at me as if he'd forgotten I was even in the room.

"Ah, yes, you. Do not believe indoctrination is behind nightmares. More likely due to stress. Would recommend long vacation in warm climate."

"I can't take a vacation. You know Shepard's scheduled a mission to the centre of the galactic core or whatever just two days from now."

"Yes, timing problematic." He looks at me, and blinks again. "Until vacation time available, would recommend you consume copious amounts of dextro-based alcohol and engage in well-known stress-relieving activity of physical copulation."

"'_Get drunk and have sex,'_ is not an answer, Mordin," I growl.

"Then would recommend you speak to Kelly Chambers. Perhaps counselling will help."

"Thanks for nothing."

I storm out, pissed at Mordin for his complete lack of help or sympathy, and almost barrel straight into Grunt and Zaeed.

"Watch it," I hiss, to their surprise.

"Who shoved a varren up _his_ ass?" I hear Zaeed say to Grunt, but I'm already halfway down the corridor and can't be bothered to respond. Besides, they wouldn't understand.

I know I should go to the battery, to run yet another test of the new Thanix cannon, but I can't be bothered. It will work. I know it will work. EDI's already run a dozen battle simulations. The gun performs perfectly in every single one. Each and every painstaking moment I spent in that battery has been worth it. Now, all I have to do is make sure I keep Shepard alive long enough for us to kick Collector ass, then go home to explain to my family why I haven't been there for them, and try to find gainful employment… all the little things like that.

I head up to the captain's quarters. Shepard isn't there—it's not even dinner time yet—but I don't feel like company at the moment, and with all the strays Shepard's picked up recently, it's hard to go anywhere on the ship to be alone. Shepard's bedroom is the one place I'm guaranteed to find solitude. Normally I don't come here to be alone, but right now I just want some time to myself.

The room is warm. Shepard keeps the temperature a few degrees higher than the rest of the ship because she knows how much turians enjoy the heat. I relax into one of the chairs and stare out of the small window, into the sparkling depths of space. The stars twinkle at me, beautiful diamond-coloured specks against the dark velvet background of space. All those stars, and only a small portion of them explored. I hope my people will be around in another few thousand years, to explore the rest of them. I hope we can succeed in stopping the Reapers once and for all.

Three hours later, the door opens and Shepard strolls into the room. She looks tired, but she smiles as soon a she sees me. Making a beeline for me, she makes herself comfortable in my lap, and greets me with a touch of her forehead against mine.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," she smiles. "I thought you'd be down in the battery."

"Not tonight," I reply. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

"This sounds serious."

I nod. I've done a lot of thinking, in those three hours. "I want you to promise me something, Shepard."

"What is it?"

"I don't know what's going to happen when we reach the galactic core," I begin. "I don't know what we'll find there." Nobody knew what we'd find there. Nobody who'd gone into the galactic core had ever come out of it again. The Omega-4 Relay was a one way trip. "But whatever happens, I want you to do something. Keep me with you. If you need a ground-team, include me in it. I know that others might be more useful… Jack and Samara, for example, could rip Collectors apart with their biotics, and Grunt could probably head-butt them into oblivion. But I want to be there. I want to be by your side. I don't want to leave you."

"I promise, Garrus," she says, leaning back to look me in the eyes, "that no matter what happens, you'll be with me."

I sigh, relieved. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

A mischievous spark enters her green eyes. "Wanna take a hot shower?"

"I don't feel particularly dirty," I reply.

"I meant with me."

"Oh." We haven't tried the shower together, yet. "In that case, yes. I feel very dirty."

She grins and takes me by the hand, and for a few hours I manage to stop worrying.


	4. Forever

Fear Itself

_4. Forever_

"_Damnit, Tali, let's get that door closed!"_

_Shepard's voice is harsh, tones of desperation interwoven with not-so-subtle hints of fear. I see the lines of worry etched into her soft skin, and want nothing more than to go to her, to wrap my arms around her and tell her that she doesn't have to go through this alone. But I know it's a foolish sentiment, and she wouldn't appreciate it. Not now. Not in front of the troops._

"_Shepard, I'm under fi—aaargh!"_

_Tali's cry is cut off, her comm line going dead as the sound of weapons fire can be heard reverberating down the alien corridors. I close my eyes. Tali had been a friend. One of the few I counted amongst the Normandy crew. She was too young to die here, like this. She deserved more. We all did._

_She isn't the first casualty on this damned suicide mission. Jacob bought it not longer after we'd infiltrated the Collector's base. Samara died watching our backs as Collectors swarmed our position. The aliens pick us off one by one, seemingly at their leisure. I'm not the only one who's noticed it. Miranda's face is grim; I think Jacob's death has affected her more than she's letting on. Even Jack and Zaeed look concerned by how much trouble we're in. The only one who seems to be having anything resembling fun is Grunt, but he's young and mostly stupid._

"_Shepard," Zaeed says, stepping forward. "We can't stay here. We gotta—"_

_His head explodes, spraying blood and brains all over us, and we all jump in shock. Weapon at the ready, I turn on the spot and see another group of Collectors converging on our position. Heart pounding in my chest, I lower myself into a crouch. From the corner of my eye I see Jack try to launch herself behind cover; her body is ripped apart by bullets. It lands on the ground, a tattered, bloody, barely-identifiable mess._

"_Trouble, Shepard," Mordin says quickly. I don't have time to glance back at him; a Collector assassin targets me from afar. I peer down my scope and pull the trigger of my rifle. My shot lands first, and the alien drops. Perfect head-shot._

"_Shit!"_

_I recognise the word as one of Shepard's strongest curses. Judging by the gunfire I hear from behind, and the eerie groaning sound, I surmise the Collectors have reached the door that Tali hadn't quite managed to close._

"_Shepard, you keep going," Grunt says. His eyes are animated, his armour spattered in blood. I can practically smell the battle-frenzy on him. "I'll keep the varren-lovers behind you occupied."_

_She doesn't hesitate. Merely nods and claps Grunt on the shoulder. Maybe she knows that she can't stop him. Maybe she's decided that the greater good demands sacrifices. Maybe she's just plain desperate. Either way, I admire the way she rounds up what's left of her ground team. As Grunt lets out an angry roar and charges the half-dozen Collectors behind us, we bolt forward, weapons blazing._

_I'm at the back of the group. By the time I see what's happened at the front, it's too late. I round a corner and see one of the Collectors, controlled directly by Harbinger, holding Miranda in the air by the throat. I expect to hear her neck snap. I don't expect the alien to grip her throat with such force that her jugular and carotid sever, and blood comes spraying out of her torn windpipe._

_Thane launches himself forward, pistol in hand, trying to use this opportunity to take out the Harbinger. An assassin's beam hits him in mid-air. He falls to the ground, his corpse charred, and Miranda is tossed down on top of him, her body limp and lifeless as a ragdoll. I raise my weapon, see Shepard do the same. Mordin and Kasumi are beside her, forming a pathetic protective two-man circle. Spying another assassin, I raise my weapon, but something hits me hard from behind. I'm knocked to the floor, winded, bleeding from a head wound. And as my vision starts to blur I see Harbinger step forward, reaching out for Shepard._

o-o-o-o-o

My eyes open, and immediately I know something's wrong. I can taste blood in my mouth, and my head feels groggy. The last thing I can remember is having a nightmare about our mission through the Relay going sideways. Like all my other nightmares, it was so vivid. So _real._

"Lights," I say. Nothing happens. "EDI? Lights!" I bark the command, certain the AI is toying with me.

"Garrus?"

The voice is so small and quiet that at first I don't recognise it. Then, it dawns on me.

"Shepard?" I reach out, to try and touch her, but my hand hits something hard. Panic starts to rise, butterflies beating their tornado-wings inside my stomach. I flatten my hand against the unseen barrier, feel my claws scratch a hard surface. "Shepard, what's happening? Where are we? And why's it dark?" When she doesn't speak, the butterflies in my stomach become more turbulent. "Shepard?!" I demand.

"We're in the Collector's lair," she says at last. "Don't you remember?"

Nausea pulses through my body, and I _do_ remember. That nightmare… it wasn't a nightmare at all. It was _real._ Miranda, Grunt, Zaeed… they're all dead. Probably Kasumi and Mordin too. Spirits, we'd failed! Flames of desperation lick at my mind. I turn a full circle, claws scratching against a hard surface no matter how I grope.

"Garrus." Shepard's voice stills my movements. "I love you."

"Don't say that!" I shout, my voice harsh to my own ears. "Don't you dare say that! Not now! I know what it means, when you say that! I've already lost you once, Shepard. I lost you, and then I got my whole team on Omega killed because I'm a bad leader. And now I've lost another team… some of them my friends. I won't lose you again, Shepard. I'm going to save you!"

"You already have, Garrus. In every way that counts."

I hear her words, but I'm too busy trying to find a way out of this cell to reply. Spirits be damned, why can't I find a handle, or a control panel? Why can't I feel anything except this cold, curved surface?

"I wish they'd put the lights on," Shepard says. "I'd like to see you one last time."

I don't respond. I think I've found a crack in the surface of my cell. If I can just get my claws a little further into it, I might be able to prise it open.

"Do you know where we are?" She asks. "I saw containers like these when they dragged me through to here, before I blacked out. I saw the crew in pods just like these. I watched as they were liquified alive. They were just… dissolved… right before my eyes. And you know what the stupidest thing is? I keep thinking to myself, _I just want to know __**why**__. _Like, knowing why they're doing this would make all of it right."

Is it just my imagination, or did the door of my cell just shift a little when I pulled against the crack? Quickly, I tried again. I had to get out of here, and free Shepard. We could still make it back to the Normandy. We could still survive. She might have given up, but I'll _never_ stop fighting.

"Garrus!" The fear in Shepard's voice stops me cold. "What's that sound?"

"I don't hear anything."

"It's right above me. And there's heat beneath me. Oh god, it's burning, it's—_aaaaaaaaaaaaargh!"_

"Shepard!" As her agonised screams echo around my cell, I pound my fists against the curved structure, raking my claws against it, throwing myself as hard as I can against the unmoving door of my cage. I ignore the tears which spill from my eyes, ignore the pain in my already bruised shoulder as I frantically try to reach Shepard. Images flash through my mind; her beautiful green eyes melting inside her skull, her long red hair disintegrating to nothing. Her warm, soft skin dissolving away… I'm now grateful for the darkness that I previously cursed.

Even when her cries cease, I don't give up. I slam myself into my own pod's door, each attempt growing more and more feeble as the will to continue is sapped from my muscles. I sink to my knees. I should be angry. The thought of Shepard being killed like this… it should make me want to vomit. But suddenly, it's all too much. The nightmares have worn me down; I am exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. I have nothing left to lose.

I hear a mechanical hum above me, and feel the floor of my cell begin to rapidly heat up, but I don't care. My last thought in life, is that my father was right all along. I _am_ a failure. I was an idealistic fool, to believe that I could make a difference. How could I save an entire galaxy, if I couldn't even save the woman I love?

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks everyone for reading, and thanks to my anonymous guest reviewers whom I can't reply to personally. Hope you've enjoyed this brief foray into the horrors of Mass Effect, and I appreciate your feedback and support._


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